


What Forever Means To Us

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angels, Community: tw_holidays, Fallen Angels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>City of Angels AU with much less heartbreak. Derek falls for Stiles in every way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Forever Means To Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rufflefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/gifts).



> many many thanks to reddwarfer for beta reading and being an awesome sounding board. (more complete notes at the end)

Derek and Laura looked down at the small town of Beacon Hills in the moments before sunrise. This was where they were stationed. There wasn’t a lot of work, not like in a city where they’d be running from here to there and everywhere to escort souls to heaven. Derek liked it, though. It was quiet and gave him time to read and, more recently, watch the local population go about their daily lives.

He had a copy of a poem by Pablo Neruda folded in his pocket, the only thing he carried. He didn’t need a wallet, or keys, or a phone. In truth, he didn’t need the poem either, but he had it just the same. It spoke to him, even though it frustrated him in its mysterious lines. Nothing much was unknowable to an angel. They had the wisdom of heaven, knew the mysteries of eternity. They understood life and death in a way mortals couldn’t until they met their end, and even then the angels went on, unchanging.

But there was something about the lines of Neruda -- and others, but Derek was focused on this poem in particular lately -- that called to him. That made him wonder.

"Do you ever wish you were mortal?" Derek asked suddenly, turning to look at Laura.

Laura didn’t laugh, she never really laughed on earth. She smiled, giving the impression she was laughing on the inside, though. "I’ve watched them feel jealousy, rage, searing pain, and aching loss for millennia. I’m fine how I am."

She had a point. The humans hurt each other, killed each other, one at a time and en masse. He’d seen them throw their own lives away over the pain they felt, seen them take their own lives because it was too much. As angels, they didn’t feel these things. But there were other things, good things, they couldn’t feel or experience.

"But to taste fresh fruit, or feel the wind on your face," Derek said, then paused for a moment. "To feel love like a human."

Laura narrowed her eyes. "We have all the love of heaven, we have the love of eternity." She sighed, looking toward the horizon. "What’s this about? You’ve been acting weird for the past few weeks."

"Don’t you ever feel … empty?" Derek asked. He’d felt it for centuries, but only recently had he found something to fill in the spaces.

"No," Laura denied, but then the sunrise came, and the sweet music of heaven resounded throughout the valley, cutting off whatever else she would have said.

* * *

The first time Derek had ever seen Stiles, the boy was visiting his neighbor in the hospice, bringing her fresh flowers. Derek was used to seeing visitors there, but they usually had either morose faces or fake smiles, and Stiles had neither. His smiles were genuine, Derek could tell, like he was happy to see Trudy Wilkes, and the boy gossipped to her about one of the other patients sneaking a smoke behind the building when no one was looking.

"It’s so ridiculous that they try to stop us from doing what we want," Ms. Wilkes said. "We’re here to die, we might as well live it up while we can."

Stiles’s smile didn’t falter one moment, though Derek could read his mind, his heart, and felt the stab of pain that went through him at the words. "That reminds me..." Stiles said, reaching into his bag.

"What’d you bring me?" Ms. Wilkes whispered conspiratorially.

"Chocolate covered cherry cordials – sugar free, of course – and..." he said, pulling out a stack of magazines.

"Are those what I think they are?" Ms. Wilkes asked. Derek leaned in close to see what the fuss was about.

"Old issues of True Romances," Stiles said with a big grin.

Ms. Wilkes took the magazines reverently, looking at the old fashioned illustrations on the covers. They were from the 40s and 50s, and the pictures made her feel nostalgic. "Where did you ever find them?"

Stiles shrugged. "eBay."

Ms. Wilkes looked at him with a soft smile, her eyes misty. "You’re a good boy, Stiles. Thank you."

"You’re welcome, Ms. Wilkes," Stiles said with an embarrassed shrug.

Ms. Wilkes sighed. "How many times have I told you to call me Trudy?" she said sternly, then sighed. "You remind me of my first love. He wore his hair short like yours, and he had the same sweet nature. We were so young. We thought we had so much time."

Stiles didn’t ask what happened, just tilted his head, listening.

"He died in Korea, before we could ever get married," she said. But she didn’t sound regretful or sad, only wistful.

"I’m sorry," Stiles said.

"Don’t be. We were together for a year. We had a whole year that has lasted forever in my mind. It was worth every moment."

Derek couldn’t stop looking at Stiles. There was something about his smile, his eyes, that pulled him in. He’d never seen a human who affected him like this. Derek wanted to stay and learn all he could about the boy. He was listening to Stiles’s thoughts -- happy and sad in turns, flitting around brightly like fireflies -- when he remembered what he was there for. 

Reluctantly, Derek left the room and appeared in another down the hall. Jesse Klein was about to die, and it was Derek’s place to escort him home. As they walked towards the light, Derek asked Mr. Klein, "Were you ever in love?"

Mr. Klein smiled and turned to him. "Yes. Grace and I were married for fifty-two years." Derek felt in the man’s heart that he’d lost her some time before.

"Was it worth the pain of losing her?"

It was unusual for the dying to stop in their tracks. Very rarely did Derek get someone who wasn’t eager to get to the light. But Mr. Klein stopped and looked at Derek sternly. "Boy, I would have suffered ten times that for just one moment with her. Does that answer your question?"

Derek nodded, and Mr. Klein nodded back. Then they walked into the white, welcoming light of heaven together, Mr. Klein fading into it. After, Derek remained on earth, his thoughts heavy.

That was when Derek started doing other things in his free time, like reading confusing poetry and following Stiles. He didn’t dare show himself, not yet, maybe not at all. But there was something about Stiles that made him want to be near him, constantly. He wanted to catch every smile, every laugh, every beautiful, shining thought that whizzed through his head.

Derek went to the library and brushed his fingers along the spines of books, taking in their words, and found himself fascinated more by the poems he absorbed than by the stories. And even though his memory was picture perfect, he found himself copying down one in particular, just so he could have it near to him.

The poem was about laughter. When he read it, even though he couldn’t relate entirely without feeling human emotion, it reminded him of Stiles. He traced the words over and over, trying to make sense of them, and at the same time trying to make sense of how he felt for the human.

One bit in particular spoke to Derek.

_with eyes tired_  
sometimes from having seen  
the unchanging earth,  
but when your laughter enters  
it rises to the sky seeking me  
and it opens for me all  
the doors of life. 

Derek had been tired, empty, for centuries. Watching humans, their pains and ills, for all time, was wearing on him. Before he’d seen Stiles, he’d just done his job and hoped the love of heaven was enough for him. It hadn’t been. 

The poem was written for a human (or perhaps for a country, if analysis was to be believed), by a human, but it made so much sense to Derek. Even though he couldn’t feel things fully, a glimmer of what the poet felt seemed to shine inside of the angel whenever he thought of Stiles. 

He only wished he knew what that meant.

* * *

Derek had an appointment with a child early in the morning, in the hospital, and he smiled and took her hand to lead her into the light. "What was your favorite part?" he asked, thinking she’d mention her favorite food (they sometimes did) or a special pet.

This little girl looked up at him with a wide smile. "Mommy." She tried to look back, but Derek guided her onward.

Which was why he was late for Trudy Wilkes’s death. It wasn’t his job, it was Laura’s, and he caught a glimpse of her as he came into the room looking for Stiles. Then she was gone, along with her charge.

Stiles was holding the hand of Ms. Wilkes’s body, tears in his eyes but not yet falling. Derek brushed his thoughts and knew the boy understood she was gone; Stiles just couldn’t let go yet.

"I brought you daffodils today, from your garden. They just came up and I wanted you to see them," Stiles said, and sniffed. "I’ve been weeding your flower beds, you know. When I thought about it. I should’ve told you."

Derek moved close to Stiles, wanting to comfort him, but unwilling to show himself. He shouldn’t, anyway. He wasn’t supposed to, not unless a human was dying. But Stiles finally gave in and blinked, letting the tears drop down his cheeks, and something inside Derek broke.

There was a box of Kleenex next to the untouched food tray, and Derek walked over to them, materializing as he picked them up and then offered them to Stiles.

Stiles looked up, confused, and took a tissue. "Thanks, man." His eyes were big and luminous, shiny. Lost. Derek wanted to see him smile, but knew how difficult that would be at the moment.

"I’m sorry," Derek said.

Stiles nodded, scrubbing at his face. "Did you know her?"

Derek hesitated. "I spent some time with her. She was remarkable."

"I didn’t really know her that well until she moved in here," Stiles said. "I don’t even remember why I started coming to see her. She was just my neighbor."

"But you became friends," Derek pointed out.

"Yeah," Stiles said, and smiled faintly. It was enough to make Derek’s numb heart warm a little. He shouldn’t have felt like that, shouldn’t have even shown himself like this. 

"I have to go," Derek said, and reached out to squeeze Stiles’s shoulder. "Call the nurse and let them know she’s gone."

Stiles looked up at him, questioning. "Do you believe in heaven?"

Derek nodded. "Absolutely."

"After my mom died, my dad told me all this stuff about heaven, how it’d be full of light and love, and how Mom would never hurt again. Sometimes it’s hard to believe in something so good, though," Stiles said.

"I think heaven is exactly like that," Derek said.

"I’m sorry; you said you had to go," Stiles said.

"Yeah," Derek said, even though his pull to Stiles was getting stronger, making him want to stay near.

"I’m Stiles, by the way. Thanks for … you know," Stiles said.

"I’m Derek." He hesitated for a moment. "It was good you were here with her, in the end. I think it’s good not to be alone when it’s time." It was one of the reasons he took his own job so seriously. 

He heard the whispered ‘thanks’ as he walked out of the room, then disappeared. He wanted to go back inside and just be there with Stiles, but he’d done too much already. He had broken the unspoken rules. Maybe it was okay, since Stiles was grieving. Angels could comfort the hurting. Or at least, they should.

* * *

"Do you ever feel like you’re missing something, not being human?" Derek asked.

Laura dangled her feet over the ledge and sighed. "Like what?"

"We’re eternal. We just go on and on. Wouldn’t it be something to feel? To change?" Derek mused.

"Change?" Laura asked. 

"Humans have the ability to change and love and do whatever they want," Derek said. "Don’t you want something like that?"

"You’re talking about free will," Laura said.

"Sort of," Derek said. They were moments away from sunrise now. 

"I wish I knew what’s gotten into you, Derek," Laura said, bemused.

_I think I’ve fallen in love_. The thought came up unbidden, without prelude. He looked quickly at Laura, wondering if she’d read his mind, but the sunrise came then, drowning out their thoughts and words with a choir of heavenly voices, perfectly tuned, the instruments of home.

* * *

Derek watched Stiles in his classes at school, watched him joke with his best friend, Scott. He saw him at lunch, trying to get a redheaded girl’s attention, failing miserably. He saw him badger a boy named Danny, and reading his thoughts discovered Stiles had a little bit of a crush on him, too. Derek was amused at his persistence with the girl (Lydia, he gleaned) but felt a slight potential for jealousy that would have been worrying if Derek was at the point he cared. He wasn’t there, though. He was beyond that. He was feeling things he had no business feeling, and he was aching for more, more than was possible as an angel.

He watched Stiles at lacrosse practice, saw the way the others treated him – some with disdain, some with camaraderie, some with laughing, bare acceptance. 

Derek went back to the library a few times, memorizing more poetry. Again and again he came back to Neruda, and the last time he visited one line stood out to him like a beacon.

_in your life I see everything that lives_

Stiles had become, somehow, a lens to see the rest of humanity through. He was special, he was beautiful, but he was also the key to seeing everything the humans were. Everything that Stiles felt, everything he was, in some way brought Derek closer to a place he hadn’t yet seen but could feel coming.

Derek didn’t know what place it was, but it was as if he was rewriting his own fate. He was, impossibly enough, _changing_. Angels didn’t change. They didn’t feel. They certainly didn’t fall in love. Derek was doing all of those things. Every day he felt the change. And every day he fell more and more in love with Stiles.

* * *

Ms. Wilkes’s funeral crowd was small, just a few neighbors and a nephew who hadn’t come around at the end. Stiles was there too, of course. And, after some deliberation, so was Derek. 

Stiles sat on the back row of the funeral parlor’s chapel, and Derek slid in beside him. Stiles looked surprised, but oddly pleased at his presence. Together they half-listened to the non-denominational officiant talk about a woman he hadn’t known and then pray for peace and rest. Then it was over. There would be no graveside service. It seemed abrupt and unfinished.

"God, that was depressing," Stiles said, tugging on Derek’s sleeve to lead him out of the funeral home and into the fresh air. Derek hadn’t been to many funerals; his job was over and done with long before they happened.

"Are they always so gloomy?" Derek asked, allowing himself be led.

"I’ve only been to one other funeral, and it was nothing like this," Stiles said. "She deserves so much more. A wake, maybe. Somewhere to celebrate her life."

"You can do that. Just talking about her life is good, I think," Derek said.

Stiles blinked at him, then grinned. The sun was shining on his face, and Derek thought that no human had ever looked as beautiful. "Hey, Derek?" Stiles said. "Want to go get some ice cream with me?"

All Derek had to hear was the ‘with me’ part, and he was nodding without thinking of the implications. "Yes."

Stiles seemed to realize he was still holding on to Derek’s sleeve, and let go with an embarrassed smile. "Get in my Jeep. I’ll drive us to the ice cream place."

The ice cream parlor had so many choices, and Derek had only had ice cream once on a whim. He’d not even been able to feel the coldness of the treat, let alone taste the sweet flavor. It didn’t matter, though. He could get a small amount and pretend.

Stiles made him get a waffle cone, and Derek picked the first flavor that came to mind. 

"Vanilla? Really?" Stiles asked, baffled.

Derek shrugged. It was as good as any. Stiles ordered a mint brownie cone and they took a small table in the corner. There was no one else there.

"She was diabetic," Stiles said, and Derek knew it was time to talk about Ms. Wilkes. "But she loved candy. I got her all kinds of sugar-free stuff whenever I could."

Derek nodded. Stiles thought he and Ms. Wilkes had been friends as well, and it was true Derek knew a lot about her. So he added, "She only fell in love once in her life, and it was forever. She never married after he was gone, even though she had her share of offers."

"I wonder if my dad feels like that about my mom," Stiles mused. "I want him to be happy, but he still misses her so much; I can’t imagine him finding someone else."

"Maybe not right now. Or maybe not ever. It’s his decision," Derek said.

"Love isn’t a decision, is it?" Stiles asked. "Turning it off like that, loving someone else..."

"I don’t think you can turn it off any more than you can turn it on," Derek said, and now he knew he could speak from experience, limited though it may be.

"Ms. Wilkes – I guess I should call her Trudy, she always asked me to – she just kept loving him forever," Stiles said. "She never told me his name, only that I reminded her of him."

"Avery," Derek said, having heard it in the woman’s mind before. 

Stiles nodded, taking that in, memorizing it. "She taught English at the high school for a long time, I think it was something like forty years. She retired twelve years ago." 

Derek was listening, but he was distracted by the way Stiles ate his ice cream. He licked around the circumference of it, his tongue smoothly moving over the frozen treat. Derek wanted to kiss him, to taste the sweetness and the cold, but those were impossible things. 

Looking up, Stiles caught him at staring. Derek met his eyes, and Stiles gave him a hopeful, shy smile. His thoughts were whirring with wants and implications, almost too fast for Derek to read.

"I, uh..." Stiles said, blushing. 

Derek took pity on him, reading his need to get back on the subject before he embarrassed himself. Not that anything Stiles could do would be wrong to Derek. "I’m sure she was an excellent teacher."

Stiles let out a relieved breath. "She helped me with my homework sometimes," Stiles said. "She had a way of explaining poetry that made me really get it. Never thought that would happen. It’s still not my favorite, but at least now I understand it."

"I don’t always understand poetry," Derek said. "But I enjoy it. I like the way it … makes me feel."   
He _was_ changing. A month ago, he would never have felt anything from the poetry, or from being in Stiles’s presence. He still couldn’t feel physically, but he was starting to have emotions no angel should be able to feel. It frightened him, but it exhilarated him as well.

"I like music that way," Stiles said. "And dude, your ice cream is melting all over your hand. Don’t you feel that?"

Derek looked down and saw his fingers were covered in thick vanilla goo. He brought it up to his mouth so he could get it all. Somewhere between the licking and sucking he looked at Stiles, who was watching with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Sorry, I’ve made a mess," Derek said with a frown, chasing another slow drip with his tongue, from his wrist to the cone.

"Jesus. Don’t apologize," Stiles said in a hoarse voice. He shifted in his seat and bit his lip.

Derek raised his eyebrows and skimmed Stiles’s thoughts. He nearly fell out of his chair when he heard what Stiles was thinking. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even thought, hadn’t –

Something of his shock must have shown on his face because Stiles asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yeah," Derek said, nodding. He couldn’t feel lust, but when confronted with it like this it made him _want_ something he could barely put into words. It wasn’t the sex he wanted, not exactly, but something else. Closeness, intimacy, but also to make Stiles burn for him even more.

"Here," Stiles said, handing over a napkin. Derek finished cleaning his hands with it and smiled. Stiles smiled back, like he was beginning to always do, open and honest and sweet. "This has been good." He let his hand rest on the table between them, a no-pressure open invitation.

Derek reached out and took Stiles’s hand. He hated that he couldn’t feel the smoothness or heat of the skin, or the slight drag of Stiles’s thumb over the back of his own hand. But he could look his fill, memorize the sight of their hands together. "It’s been very good."

"So if it’s been good, maybe if we get together again sometime, that’ll be good, too?" Stiles asked nervously.

Derek squeezed his hand gently. Stiles’s reaction was to relax and smile again, and Derek said, "I like spending time with you."

"Want to go see a movie tomorrow?" Stiles asked, then said, "Wait, no, not tomorrow. I promised some friends I’d do something with them. Sunday night, then? If you’re not busy?"

"I can get Laura to cover for me," Derek said, mostly to himself.

"Coworker?" Stiles asked. 

Derek nodded hesitantly. "She’s my sister. We’re both … in the family business."

Stiles looked curious. "Which is...?"

"We take people where they need to go," Derek said. He let Stiles take that as he would, and running over the top of his thoughts found that Stiles assumed he meant a taxi or shuttle service. It wasn’t a lie, because Derek _couldn’t_ lie. 

Stiles looked at his phone when it made a chirp and swore under his breath. "I’ve gotta go," he said. "Dad wouldn’t write an excuse for the whole day; I’ve got to get back to school."

"I have to get back to work myself," Derek said. There was a waiting soul at the hospital.

"Okay. Sunday night, meet me in front of the theater at seven?" Stiles said.

"It’s a date," Derek said, just to make Stiles blush and smile like that again.

* * *

"I’m worried for you," Laura said as soon as he blinked onto the overlook.

"Are you?" Derek asked. He sat down on his perch and looked down at the dark, sleepy town.

"You’re not yourself," she said.

Derek shrugged. 

"What’s wrong with you? Why are you … oh," Laura said, and Derek realized she had dove into his thoughts.

He looked at her, wondering what she would say. Long moments went by but no more words passed between them.

After the sunrise, Laura left without saying goodbye.

* * *

Saturday night, Derek followed Stiles to a club where his friend Danny was having his birthday get together. The club was packed, and couples of all types were dancing to the loud music. Even Stiles danced, looking like he was having a good time. Several people in the club watched him off and on, appreciation in their gazes. Derek felt something possessive well up inside him, something he’d never felt before. It was fine as long as others just looked, but once one of the dancers moved in close to Stiles and practically wrapped themselves around him, it reared up like a beast and had Derek materializing and stalking over to Stiles to cut in.

He should have been scared of his feelings, as new and strong as they were. But when Stiles saw him and smiled, it didn’t matter. At that moment, nothing mattered but him. 

"Derek," Stiles murmured. It was soft and surprised and Derek probably shouldn’t have been able to hear it over the music but he did. It sent a shiver of anticipation down Derek’s spine, although he had no idea what he was waiting for. He could barely feel Stiles’s hot, sweaty body in his arms, muted as his senses were. But he could hold Stiles there against him and know where he was, what they were doing. He hoped, prayed, that it would be enough.

It wasn’t enough. Stiles seemed satisfied, moving against him with a smile, but Derek was left frustrated, wanting so much more. He tightened his hands at Stiles’s hips and pulled him closer, but he still couldn’t _feel_ him. Granted, he could feel a slight pressure that told him Stiles was getting hard against him, but it was a muted revelation that only meant something else Derek couldn’t give Stiles.

There were a lot of things Derek couldn’t give Stiles. He couldn’t even give him the truth.

Derek ducked his head and pressed a kiss against Stiles’s neck, then pulled back. "I have to go."

"Already?" Stiles asked. He sighed and then gave Derek a hopeful smile. "We’re still on for tomorrow night?"

Derek nodded but a thought went through his mind that maybe it would be better if he stopped seeing Stiles. Better for Stiles, at least. He backed up and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Stiles alone on the dance floor.

* * *

_My struggle is harsh and I come back_  
with eyes tired  
at times from having seen  
the unchanging earth 

Derek’s fingers ran over the worn paper again and again, thinking of heaven and duty and predetermination. Stiles couldn’t be part of his life, and Derek couldn’t be a part of his. It was simple, no matter how much it made a hollow place inside him. 

"I came to warn you, but I can see you’re telling yourself some hard truths, now," Peter said, materializing in the library’s small reading room. 

Derek looked up at the sudden entrance. "Laura told you."

"She sent for me, yes," Peter said. "She thought I should drag you back home to sing in the choir for a few hundred years."

Going home wouldn’t solve Derek’s problems. There was more out there, somewhere, somehow, and he wanted it. He craved an end to the empty existence he’d been leading. "So am I going back?"

Peter shook his head. "I have something better in mind. A choice." He flicked his fingers and a white card appeared. He handed it to Derek.

There was no name on the card, just an address. "What’s this?" Derek asked.

Peter smirked. "Like I said, it’s a choice. You should go sooner rather than later, I think."

"Is this normal?" Derek asked. "What’s been happening to me, I mean."

"Who cares?" Peter said. "You’re not the first angel to fall in love, I’ll tell you that much."

Derek shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, card and all. He’d already memorized the address. "I’ve never heard of this happening."

"Well, we don’t advertise it," Peter said with a wry expression.

"Why is it happening to me? Why now?" Derek asked, pleaded for understanding.

Peter sighed. "I don’t know."

Derek ran his fingers over the embossed card in his pocket, brushing against the poem that was there, too. He needed answers. He gave Peter one last nod and blinked out of the library to the address he’d been given.

He debated whether to act human and knock on the door or to just materialize inside. The door opened before he reached a decision.

"I could feel you out there," a man said. He seemed to look straight at Derek even though Derek knew he wasn’t visible. "Come in and quit hiding."

Derek followed the man inside, curious and startled at being discovered. He let himself be seen when the man turned around and motioned him to a chair.

"I’m Derek," he said as he sat warily.

"My name’s Alan," the man said. He sat opposite in a big, overstuffed chair. His thoughts were open and inviting when Derek touched them, so Derek skimmed along the surface of them, picking up his last name -- Deaton -- and his occupation -- veterinarian. He seemed perfectly ordinary on the outside, at first, but then a clear thought came through. _I used to be like you._

"You know what I am," Derek murmured. "How...You’re human?"

"I am now," Deaton said. "I fell ten years ago."

Derek blinked. "Fell?"

Deaton smiled. "You don’t know a thing about it, do you?" he asked, not unkindly. He leaned forward and looked into Derek’s eyes. "I fell to earth, became mortal. But first, I fell in love."

"You were an angel," Derek said, fear and hope filling him up inside. "You gave up everything."

"Do you really want an eternity of never changing? Never feeling?" Deaton asked. "Forever is complicated. It’s a gift, but it makes things less precious."

"I’m in love," Derek said slowly. It was the first time he’d ever said the words out loud and they seemed so stark out in the open. They sounded so right, though. "I’m in love and I know I can’t be with him the way I am."

"You could try," Deaton said. "You could tell him the truth. But you’d never be able to feel his breath against your skin or smell his hair or taste his lips."

" _I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair,_ " Derek recited in a murmur. It was a poem about a specific kind of hunger. _I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body_ it went on to say in a separate verse. He had taken the words into himself and felt them on every level. He ached for Stiles, now.

Deaton nodded. "This isn’t a decision to be taken lightly, but of course you know that."

"Tell me how," Derek said. Thinking of Stiles made him feel desperate. "How do I become human?"

"Fall," Deaton said. "Just close your eyes and fall."

* * *

"You seem a million miles away," Stiles was saying as they left the movie theater. "C’mon, the movie wasn’t that good."

Derek tilted his head. "I’m sorry. I have something on my mind."

"Want to talk about it?" Stiles asked, then shivered. The night air must have been cold. Derek shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over Stiles’s shoulders.

"I have a big decision to make," Derek said as he watched Stiles put the jacket on.

"Thanks," Stiles said. Then, "Have you made a pros and cons list?"

"A what?" Derek asked.

Stiles laughed and Derek thought, _Laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you_.

"Make a list of reasons why you should do it and why you shouldn’t, whatever it is," Stiles said. "And see what weighs in as more important."

Derek nodded. "I’ve been doing that in my head," he said.

"When you put it down on paper it’s more solid," Stiles said.

They had almost made it to Stiles’s Jeep when a man ran up to them and pointed a gun at Stiles. "Wallet and phone. Now."

Derek touched the man’s mind. It was chaotic and his thoughts were desperate. The only thing Derek could do was change the man’s focus by stepping in closer. Stiles quickly handed over his things, his face white, but the man was already turned to Derek, demanding more of the same.

"I don’t have a wallet," Derek said. "Or a phone."

"Don’t lie to me or you’ll be dead. Hand them over now," the man snarled, and Derek hated free will then, hated that he couldn’t really make humans do things. 

"I don’t have anything," Derek said again.

The gun went off, two loud bangs that sounded in the near-empty parking lot. Instead of moving away or trying to save himself, Stiles moved to cover Derek’s body with his own. Derek, unhurt but knocked down from the pressure of the bullets, quickly rolled so that his body was between the gun and Stiles.

The man, having realized he just shot someone in a parking lot that would probably soon be crawling with cops, ran off. Which left them alone, Stiles pushing Derek over onto his back, his hands searching for bullet holes.

"I’m okay," Derek said.

"You were shot!" Stiles said. Then he found two holes in Derek’s shirt and pushed it up his chest to bare smooth, unmarred skin. "What the fuck?"

Derek watched as Stiles ran his hands over his chest and belly, as if his fingertips would find a wound his eyes couldn’t see. Then Stiles sat back on his heels and looked at him warily.

"You were shot," Stiles repeated. "Point blank range. Tell me how this is possible."

Derek looked at the holes in his shirt and ran a hand over them, making the fabric whole again. Stiles watched, eyes wide. Derek took a deep breath and went for it, even though he feared the worst. "I’m not human."

"Obviously," Stiles said weakly. 

"I’m an angel," Derek said. 

"An _angel_ ," Stiles echoed. "Like, with wings? Halo?"

"Wings? No, I’m not that kind of angel," Derek said. "And a halo is only an aura that some people can see."

"Did you used to be human? Did you die and become an angel, is that it? You’re, like, a ghost?" Stiles asked.

"No, it doesn’t work like that. I’ve always been an angel," Derek said. 

"For how long? How old are you?" Stiles asked weakly. He finally seemed to realize his hands were still on Derek, and he pulled back as if he had been burned.

Derek shook his head, trying to think of a way to explain. "I was created before this universe came into being. This dimension was only an idea when I was made."

"This is too much," Stiles said. "I don’t understand. What … what are you even doing with me?"

"I saw you and I fell-"

"Stop!" Stiles said, sounding panicked. "I have to go. I hear sirens and you should … we should both just go."

Derek nodded. "If that’s what you want."

"Right now I don’t know what I want. I just … I can’t see you right now," Stiles said.

"Stiles," Derek said, not understanding, wanting to make this right. "I-"

"Don’t," Stiles said. "Just go."

So Derek did. He blinked out of visibility, watching Stiles stare at the nothing that took his place, then made his way back to Deaton’s.

* * *

"I don’t have anywhere to go. And I need to think," Derek had said to Deaton when he arrived, and the man just nodded and let him sit down in his living room, out of the way, while Deaton watched him, seemingly worried. Occasionally, Deaton would try to start a conversation, but Derek wasn’t in the mood to talk. He had a piece of paper and a pen, and he was making lists.

He’d been there for an hour when the doorbell rang. Derek didn’t want to be seen by anyone, so he became invisible and stayed where he was.

Surprisingly, the visitor was Stiles.

"I don’t know where to find Derek, but this address was in his jacket pocket," Stiles explained after Deaton introduced himself.

Deaton let him in and led him to the couch, not that far from where Derek was sitting.

"What do you know about angels?" Stiles asked abruptly.

"Everything," Deaton said. "I used to be one."

Stiles sucked in a breath. "How? How did you become human? _Why_?"

"I think you’d rather hear about Derek than me," Deaton said. "My story wouldn’t be nearly as interesting to you."

"Just tell me something, anything," Stiles said. "Make me understand."

"Angels are different from me and you," Deaton began. "They don’t feel things nearly as intense as humans. That means Derek knows no hunger, no fear, no pain. He hears music in the sunrise. But he would give it all up, he loves you that much."

"I don’t understand. How?" Stiles asked. 

"He can fall, he can give up his existence as he knows it, all of eternity, and become one of us." Deaton spared a glance over at where Derek was hiding, then looked back at Stiles.

"For me?" Stiles asked weakly. "I’m not that special."

"You are to Derek," Deaton said. 

Stiles stuck his hand into the leather jacket he was still wearing and pulled out a folded piece of paper. The poem. "He wrote my name on this. He carried it with him everywhere. I read it and saw my name and I … at first I didn’t believe he could love me, but."

"I think the greater question is whether or not you can love Derek. Do you think you can get to that place, where you can give back what he wants to give to you?" Deaton asked.

"Did he tell you he got shot tonight?" Stiles asked. "Twice. He was shot twice. I thought I had lost him."

Deaton prompted him to go on with a nod.

"I think I’m already at that place. I think I already love him," Stiles said softly. Then, stronger, "But I can’t imagine him giving up everything for me. He shouldn’t."

"It’s not your decision," Deaton said, just as Derek made himself visible again.

Deaton excused himself from the room. Stiles turned to Derek, looking unsurprised to see him. "I don’t think I could live with myself knowing what you had and let go."

"And I couldn’t live with myself if I don’t do this," Derek said. "For millennia, I’ve never changed. Never truly felt. Now, there’s something wonderful right in front of me, an opportunity and a blessing. Don’t try to take this away from me, Stiles."

"But you have forever," Stiles said.

"It means nothing without you." Derek moved in closer, holding Stiles’s face in his hands gently. He ached to feel the softness, the warmth, but he contented himself with the fact that Stiles could feel his tenderness.

"This is a big deal," Stiles said.

"I know. And you’re young, you could-" Derek said, but Stiles cut him off.

"Don’t go there. I know what I’m getting into, now," Stiles said. "This is forever. Or what forever will mean to us, at least."

Derek stepped back and nodded. "Then I’ll go. I have to see someone before I … fall."

"But then you’ll come back?" Stiles said.

"I’ll come to you as soon as I can," Derek said. "I’ll meet you at your house in the morning."

Stiles launched himself forward into Derek’s arms for a tight hug. "I know you can’t feel this, but I have to." Derek brought his arms up and hugged back, careful of his strength.

"I love you," he murmured against Stiles’s hair.

"Me too," Stiles said. "I love you too." Then he pulled back and said, "Now go, get human. I’ll wait for you."

Derek nodded and blinked away to the overlook to wait for Laura.

* * *

"I see you’ve made your decision," Peter said when he came. "I’ve already been assigned here. Temporarily, of course, to keep an eye on you while you settle."

Laura blinked in then, and she cocked her head when she looked at Derek. "I don’t think I’ll ever understand, but I want to wish you happiness."

"Thank you," Derek said.

"So you came to hear one last time," Peter said, motioning to the upcoming sunrise.

"And to say goodbye," Derek said, looking at Laura. He realized becoming human would be like losing his whole family in a blink.

"We’ll still be here," Laura said. "I’ll check in on you sometimes."

"It won’t be the same," Derek said, knowing it was the truth. "You’ll have your jobs, and … I don’t know what the future holds for me."

"Get a grant, go to school," Peter said. "I’ll help out if you need me to."

Derek gave him a disbelieving look.

"What? You’re like a nephew to me," Peter said.

The conversation was surreal. Derek looked to the sky just as the sun began to break over the horizon and the symphony of heaven began. It seemed to go on longer than usual, with notes made just for him. He hadn’t known he was seeking a higher permission and understanding before that moment, but he found them both in the song.

When it was over and the last notes faded, Derek looked at Laura and Peter one more time. "I guess I’m going now."

"Just like that," Laura murmured. Derek thought if she were human she would be crying.

"See you around, Derek," Peter said. "Good luck."

"Yes. Good luck," Laura said.

Derek took a deep breath and looked down over the ledge. He felt no fear, no worry, only resolve. He couldn’t hesitate any longer. It was time to leave one world and join another. To become something different.

He took a step off the rocky ledge and fell.

* * *

Maybe he should have chosen a shorter fall. The fall itself was symbolic, of course, and didn’t kill him outright. But he landed hard in a briar thicket and had to fight his way out of it in the early morning sun. Then he had to wander through the woods, his clothes in tatters, not knowing if he was going in the right direction or not. He couldn’t just make himself go wherever he wanted, and he knew he was several miles outside of town.

By the time he made it to Stiles’s house, his clothes were in tatters (from the briar bushes and the fall), his legs and feet were sore, he was dirty (he tripped over roots in the forest _three times_ ) and he was parched. He even had a bruise from faceplanting onto a rock. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it on his cheek, sore and throbbing. 

He grinned as he knocked on Stiles’s door. He could feel every bit of it. He was human.

Stiles flung the door wide in almost no time at all. He paused, taking in Derek’s appearance. "God, you look awful. And wonderful. What happened to you?"

"I fell," Derek said with a grin that probably bordered on maniacal. 

"Come in," Stiles said, taking Derek’s elbow and leading him inside.

"Being human hurts more than I thought it would," Derek said.

"Anything serious?" Stiles asked, touching Derek’s face to see how badly it was bruised.

Derek gasped and closed his eyes at the touch. His hand came up to rest over Stiles’s hand, holding it there. "I’ve never felt this before." 

"What does it feel like?" Stiles asked.

"I can’t even describe it," Derek said. He wanted to stand still and let Stiles touch him for the rest of his life. Forever. But Stiles had other ideas.

"Wait until you feel a shower," he said, pushing Derek upstairs. "You really need one. I’ll track down some of Dad’s clothes for you."

Stiles went into another room while Derek waited, looking at pictures on the walls. There was a family photo of a younger Stiles with his mother and father. She looked familiar around the eyes, kind and mischievous, and Derek realized she’d passed down that trait to her son. 

"Here," Stiles said, shoving some soft clothes into Derek’s arms. "Sweats and a teeshirt. They should fit; they’re big on Dad."

"Where is he?" Derek asked. "He won’t mind?"

"He’s at work until midnight," Stiles said. "And I don’t have the faintest clue how we’re going to explain you, let alone the clothes. I’ll think of something. Now go, take your first long, hot shower and then come back and tell me what it was like."

Derek leaned in and brushed his lips against Stiles’s cheek. "Thank you."

Stiles’s little intake of breath was almost as good as feeling warm, soft skin beneath his lips. Then Stiles shook his head and pushed Derek into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

* * *

After the shower, Derek put on the sweatpants and eyed the teeshirt dubiously. The pants weren’t tight, but the shirt looked like it was made for a much slimmer man. He slung it over his shoulder instead of wearing it and exited the bathroom.

Stiles was in his room with the door open while he did something with his computer. He looked up when Derek cleared his throat. "You’d make a great ninja. I didn’t hear you." But his words seemed like afterthoughts as his eyes roamed over Derek’s chest. "Are all angels as ripped as you?"

"I never thought about it," Derek said, wishing he could read Stiles’s thoughts. He had the same look on his face as he had in the ice cream shop. Derek smirked. "The shower was amazing. Next time you should join me."

"Oh, God," Stiles said, standing up from his chair. "You can’t just say stuff like that."

"Why not?" Derek asked. He put the shirt to the side and stalked closer. He’d been wanting to touch Stiles since he’d first seen him, over and over again.

"You’re supposed to be … more angelic, I guess," Stiles said weakly.

"Completely human," Derek pointed out, and pulled Stiles against him. He bowed his head and took a deep breath against his neck, taking in the scent of Stiles’s soap and sweat. It was arousing, intoxicating, and Derek’s cock began to harden for the first time. The want was exquisite, the drive almost overpowering.

"You gonna kiss me?" Stiles asked breathlessly.

Derek nodded and took Stiles’s face between both of his hands. "Forever. I’m going to kiss you forever."

Stiles gasped when Derek’s lips met his own, and Derek moaned. It was impossible to ignore the sweetness of Stiles’s mouth, and Derek licked his bottom lip, then tugged on it gently with his teeth. 

_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond_ , Derek thought, but decided against saying aloud. One day he would tell Stiles about Neruda’s poetry and how deeply it reminded him of his feelings for him. One day they would lie in bed and Derek would ink the words across Stiles’s skin, _I hunger for your sleek laugh_ and _because I love you, love, in fire and blood_.

But not today. Today Derek was going to lick his way past Stiles’s lips, capture every moan with his own mouth, and press his entire body against Stiles to show him just how much he wanted him. "Tell me if it’s too much. I just want …"

"You can have everything," Stiles said, and pushed Derek down to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles crawled into his lap and straddled him, then twined his arms around Derek’s neck. "I want you so much."

Derek found himself letting out sounds like whimpers, like growls, as he kissed and bit at Stiles’s mouth and neck. His hands roamed over Stiles’s back, up and down, not knowing where to stay. One hand found its way under his shirt to touch amazingly hot, smooth skin. 

It seemed to be the way things went with Derek: the more he had, the more he wanted. More skin, more heat, more Stiles. He tugged at the shirt, pulled it up, and Stiles lifted his arms without question so Derek could take it off. 

"Talk to me," Stiles said when they were pressed skin to skin. He mouthed at Derek’s shoulder, lips brushing faintly and then letting his teeth scrape over a lust-tense muscle. "Tell me what you’re feeling."

"Everything," Derek said hoarsely. He slid his hands down Stiles back, down and down, until he could cup Stiles’s ass and pull him closer against him. Stiles moaned and pushed Derek back onto the bed so that he was lying on his back.

"What does this feel like?" Stiles asked, ducking his head and licking broadly over a flat nipple.

Derek jerked. "Like you’ve found a live wire."

Stiles smiled and let his teeth scrape where his tongue had been. Derek’s cock jumped and he moaned. Stiles didn’t expect more from him, not then, but he did it again and again until Derek was primed to take over completely.

Which he did by rolling them over with a growl, covering Stiles’s body with his own.

"Okay, I’m completely okay with this," Stiles said, grinning. 

Derek bit at his neck, making Stiles arch back and moan loudly. His cock was hard against his own, and Derek rocked his hips experimentally, searching for more friction. He found it. Stiles’s hands scrambled at Derek’s waistband and pushed at his pants. 

"Off, off," Stiles panted, and Derek agreed. While Derek kicked his sweatpants off, Stiles was unbuttoning and unzipping his own fly, freeing himself to Derek’s hungry gaze.

"I don’t know where to start. I just want you so much," Derek said, staring down at Stiles’s naked body. He wanted to map every mole with his tongue, explore the length and width of his cock with his mouth. He wanted to lick his navel and the thin trail beneath it. He wanted to run his hands everywhere, all over, until Stiles was a quivering, whimpering mess of need.

But Stiles had a plan, it seemed. He laughed – and Derek would never get tired of that sound, ever – and reached down to wrap his warm hand around both of their erections. Derek moaned and pushed into Stiles’s grip, slightly wet with precome, skin against skin. 

"Feel good?" Stiles asked, breathless with what looked like happiness.

" _Fuck_ ," Derek swore, and Stiles laughed again. Derek grinned and claimed his mouth, hard and searing, and began to rock against him, into his hand.

Stiles was saying something, over and over, but it was slurred against Derek’s mouth and he swallowed the sounds. Stiles’s hand tightened and Derek’s thrusts became erratic, driven more by immediate need than thought.

It was a surprise when Derek came. Not because he wasn’t expecting it, but because it was so intense, so _big_ , that it nearly knocked him out. His release slicked Stiles’s hand, and Stiles took hold of himself and jerked off hard and fast while Derek looked down and watched. "So hot, you’re amazing," Derek murmured, just as Stiles cried out and came.

After he caught his breath, Stiles began to laugh again. "That lasted longer than I expected for two virgins."

Derek rolled onto his side and pulled Stiles against him. "It was incredible."

Stiles looked at him and smiled. "I never expected you to be so …"

"Enthusiastic?" Derek asked.

"That’s one word for it," Stiles said. "I guess you’re just a take-charge kind of guy."

"I just followed my instincts," Derek said. He was sleepy, and that was a new sensation. He yawned, and Stiles kissed him. 

"Hold on, let me clean us up before you fall asleep on me," Stiles said.

"Why?" Derek asked, holding back another yawn.

"Because dried come is nobody’s friend, especially when it’s stuck in your pubes," Stiles said, and hopped up out of bed.

Derek was nearly asleep when Stiles ran a warm cloth over him, cleaning him up. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Stiles said, and then snuggled back into Derek’s waiting arms. They fell asleep like that, close and maybe too warm, but neither of them caring.

* * *

**One Year Later**

Derek slipped out of bed, listening to Stiles’s sleepy protests about it being ‘ass o’clock in the morning’ and therefore too early to leave. Derek smiled and kissed his forehead, then got dressed.

The newly remodelled house still smelled like fresh paint and plaster. Derek and Stiles had overseen every little thing about it, chosen the light fixtures and appliances and curtain fabrics together. It was Stiles’s home as much as it was Derek’s, and he slept over whenever he could, with his father’s knowledge (and reluctant blessing) since he’d turned eighteen. Stiles planned to move in as soon as he graduated in two months.

Derek started up the Camaro and drove out to the overlook, checking his phone for the sunrise time. He wasn’t early like he’d wanted to be -- Stiles was hard to leave alone in bed -- but he wasn’t late, either.

He parked and then walked out to sit on the ledge. He knew Laura and Peter were there, he could feel their presence, but they didn’t show themselves. That was fine. He hadn’t seen much of them in the past year.

"I’m in school this semester," Derek started with. "Just taking general courses right now, but I’m thinking of taking on a Lit major." It was absolutely still and quiet. Derek sighed, feeling like he was talking to ghosts. "I’m fitting in better in town, I think. The story you made for me has been tragic enough to explain my … eccentricities. The lost Hale heir is pretty sympathetic."

"Was it worth it?" Laura asked softly. He couldn’t see her, but her voice was clear in the pre-dawn morning.

Derek took a deep breath. It hurt to hear her, to remember, but it was good, too. "Every moment with him is worth it. I would … I would rather have one breath of his hair, one kiss from his mouth, one touch of his hand, than an eternity without."

"Congratulations, Derek," Peter said.

"I’m … I’m glad for you," Laura said. 

The sun rose in the east then, but Derek couldn’t hear the song of heaven. He hadn’t heard it in a year, but he hadn’t missed it as much as he thought he would.

He had the sound of Stiles’s laughter, which was heaven and forever in itself. He wondered then what he was even doing there. So he nodded and turned back to his car, then drove back to where Stiles was waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> About two or three lines were lifted almost directly from the 1998 film, City of Angels. Poetry is as attributed in the story, by Pablo Neruda. The poems I quoted from are: Your Laughter; I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You; I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair; and Sonnet VIII: If your eyes were not the color of the moon. Look them up if you want, but especially Your Laughter, which is the poem that Derek thinks on the most in this story.
> 
> This is (obviously) a City of Angels AU, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill off Stiles. I hope it stands well the way it is, happy ending and all.
> 
> (I sang that damned Goo Goo Dolls song to myself the whole time I was writing this.)


End file.
